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Cassidy scrunched up her nose. “Though the Italian concept might be dramatic, I’m not sure you can marry phrases of Dante’sInfernoto images successfully. And of course I think you’d mentioned you would use the original Italian. And I understand the reason. It is symbolic as one of the first works to be published in the vernacular.”
Kate wasn’t certain how to answer that. She wasn’t even certain thatInfernowas the first work to be written and published in the vernacular. She had a feeling it might have been one of Dante’s other works. But Cassidy’s sentiments matched her own, and though she hadn’t really voiced those concerns enough to Giancarlo, it had probably factored in her lack of enthusiasm for the project.
“On the other hand,” said Cassidy. “Using English poems and poets that link so directly to the landscape like this is pure genius.” Cassidy tapped a purple-tipped fingernail against her lip. “Would you just use Yeats or would you use others? Or maybe just Irish poets? They would go over big here.”
“I-I’m not really sure. I mean, Yeats just sprang to mind when I was looking at some trees. But they aren’t hazel, so I may limit it to the ‘Two Trees’ theme and maybe other poets who talk about trees. Or relate to other aspects of nature.”
She could feel the excitement building again. The ideas were flooding her mind, making her itchy to get started as soon as she could. The need to create, get lost in the process and the world of the image and the words that expressed it. If only she could weave in the music, she thought, it would be a perfect array of how the words, images, and sounds all linked for her when she thought of her art. It was a notion that surprised her as she thought it, startled her. She’d spent a long time suppressing that musical side and it just kept leaking out recently, a situation that disquieted her. She took a deep breath. She would do best leaving that aspect aside. Her artwork was enough.
“Is that settled then?” Cassidy was saying. “If so, I’ll have the contracts drawn up and sent off to you. Do you have an agent? Giancarlo, is he your agent?”
Kate blinked at her, wondering what to say. “Well, I suppose he is. I mean he acts on my behalf, really.”
She nodded. “I’ll get them off to Giancarlo, then.”
Cassidy stood and Kate shut down her laptop, stuffing it in her bag. She’d opted for her old leather messenger bag she’d used in college. Somehow her Fendi bag didn’t match the clothes she was wearing. After donning the Chanel, she’d decided it was much too wrinkled to pass muster and ended up with her mother’s rust wool skirt, her father’s Aran sweater that she’d pulled in with a leather belt. On her feet she wore not the expensive Ferragamo pumps, but her mother’s old black leather ankle boots, over some ancient dark-blue tights. Her hair, untouched by a straightener, was in all its full-volume glory, only loosely tied back with a navy ribbon she’d found at the last minute. The effect was far from sleek and polished, but it seemed to reflect how she felt at the moment. It was neither her old self back in college, nor her new self in Italy. It was different. Interim. Or maybe limbo.
She stuck out her hand to Cassidy. “Thanks, Cassidy. For everything.”
“I should thank you,” said Cassidy. She smiled. “I have a feeling this is going to be the rage this winter.” She gestured to her. “And your look you’ve got going on there. You’re really rocking the artwork, there, girl.”
Kate looked down at herself and laughed. It all seemed absurd suddenly. Her. Rocking a look that was her artwork. It was all too strange.
* * *
A cool wind-tunnel breeze caught Kate as she exited the gallery, catching up her hair and blowing it all around her, despite the tie that held it back. Kate greeted the sensation with a delighted smile, her mood excited and even joyful. The meeting had given her a real creative boost, and she reveled in the experience, realizing she hadn’t felt this inspired in a long while. Her mind was already crowded with ideas and avenues to explore as so many possibilities opened up for her. She was itching to get started. She would set up a studio the first thing tomorrow. She was torn, though. The basement seemed ideal except for the fact that the natural light was limited to two windows at the back that were nearly ceiling height and very narrow. It might have to be Tom’s room for now, or the small attic. You could just about stand there, and the fan window was low down, but it might work with a little juggling.
She was musing on the positives and negatives of each space when a familiar figure caught her eye emerging from a building down the street. Ethan? Was it really him? He was walking down the street away from her, wearing jeans, his usual boots and brown leather jacket, his shaggy hair covered by a ball cap.
She called his name, but he didn’t turn. She quickened her pace, calling his name again above the New York traffic and other city noises that made hailing someone difficult. He paused, turned and she waved at him. He stopped, ducked into a store entrance, out of the way of the other people who were trying to make their way along the sidewalk. She caught up with him a moment later.
“Kate,” he said, smiling down at her. “What are you doing here?”
He was wearing sunglasses, despite the overcast sky, and for a moment she wondered if he had a problem with his eyes before discounting it.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, grinning. “I was meeting with Cassidy Grady. She owns the gallery over there.” Kate pointed back to the direction she’d come from. “She wants me to do a show the first week of February.”
“That’s amazing, Kate,” said Ethan. He pulled her in for a hug, and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy it, the feel of his arms around her, the strength of his embrace. “We should celebrate,” he said. He looked around and pointed down the street farther. “There. A bar. I think a glass of champagne is in order.”
She laughed. “No, really. No champagne. A cup of coffee would be good though.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “Absolutely sure. I have a train to catch, and if I have a glass of champagne, it might lead to more than that, and I’d end up finding a hotel.” She widened her eyes and covered her mouth for a moment. “Did I just say that? I did not say that. Please ignore it.”
Ethan gave a long laugh. It was a sound so genuine and warm that Kate flushed with pleasure at it.
“Don’t worry. Honestly, I knew what you meant.” He gestured next door to the entrance where they stood. “Coffee it is. How about there? It’s a small coffee shop, and the cakes and muffins look homemade, so it can’t be half bad.”
Kate nodded. “Sounds good. A cupcake might be the best way for me to celebrate. I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
“No cupcakes in Rome?”
She chuckled. “No, not really. It does have other things to offset cupcakes.”
“I can imagine it must, especially if it’s kept you there all this time.”
He ushered her to the coffee shop, opening the door for her so she could enter, and all the while she was contemplating his last remark. By the time they’d ordered their coffee and a cupcake each, Kate had decided that she was overthinking it.
